Heroes, Flowers, Bite of the Green Eyed Monster
by McRose
Summary: Orignally written for the JAG Ficathon on HBX. It's Valentine's Day 2005 at JAG HQ.
1. Chapter 1

"Heroes, Flowers, and the Bite of the Green-Eyed Monster "

Author: McRose (the writing team of highplainswoman and janlaw)

This story was originally written for the JAG Ficathon and posted at HBX. It is re-posted here for readers who don't access that board.

Ficathon prompt:

"On Valentine's Day (season left to author's whim), Mac gets a beautiful bouquet of flowers. It turns out to have been delivered to the wrong person, but what does Harm go through, thinking Mac has an admirer that he doesn't know about?"

Disclaimer: All the usual legalese. We do our best to have them play nice, and when we put them back on the shelf for awhile, we always put them in the same box so they can play together. When we were little, our parents taught us to take care of our toys.

A/N:

This story takes place on Valentine's Day 2005. There are two departures from JAG TV canon: Harriet didn't resign her commission, but remained on active duty after the twins' birth. LT Vukovic reported to JAG a few weeks earlier than he did on the show and is currently TAD to Yokosuka with Bud.

The Maine Troop Greeters are a real organization. This community group composed of World War II, Korea and Vietnam veterans, as well as members of the community with no military connection, meets every troop flight that stops for refueling and flight crew changes at the tiny Bangor International Airport. Between May 2003 and early 2006, that was over 1400 flights, over 260,000 troops. Lining a corridor, cheering and clapping, they offer cell phones for the troops to use to call home, food and snacks, handshakes and hugs. Above all, they are determined that servicemembers will never be treated as they were during and after the Vietnam War. For more information about what communities and individuals across the United States are doing to support servicemembers involved in the Global War on Terrorism, see www.americasupportsyou.mil

The "wounded warriors" described in this story are a composite of both actual and fictional servicemembers. We hope that we have changed the names and circumstances and injuries of those who are actual servicemembers sufficiently to protect their privacy.

This year's Army 10-Miler race was on 8 October 2006. Wounded servicemembers recovering at Walter Reed Army Medical Center participated as members of the "Missing Parts in Action" team.

"Author's license" has been taken regarding eligibility for seeing eye dogs. To the best of our knowledge, young children are not accepted for the program.

Chapter One: Expectations

JAG HQ

Falls Church, VA

14 February 2005

1030/10:30 am

Mac yawned for the umpteenth time that day—and it was only just now approaching the traditional time for a morning break. Never mind, there was an excuse for her weariness, she had just gotten back from a two-week TAD assignment in Afghanistan. Her military transport had landed at Andrews close to midnight Washington time, and unfortunately, there had been no Harm to greet her. She'd known that—he'd emailed her earlier that day telling her he had a few details to wrap up in Norfolk before he could start back. Her mouth curled up in an involuntary grin at that thought—with Harm, "details" probably meant "paperwork," i.e. specifically the actual report of his findings on the investigation that had sent him down there in the first place. He had never liked dealing with all the paperwork —which explained his tendency to want to interview witnesses face to face, rather than just read reports generated by other people. She wondered, as she got up from her desk and wandered towards the break room for her uncounted cup of Marine-grade coffee, if he really was going to get back when he was originally scheduled—sometime today, maybe—if she knew him—late afternoon. She wasn't even sure she would see him in the office; she suspected it would be that late! His email had said they'd "grab a pizza" when they both got back home. She hoped that would be tonight – there sure wasn't anything fit to eat in her apartment. Besides, she'd just missed him so much.

Of all the TADs she'd done, on her own or with her partner, this one took the prize as the "TAD to Hell." Bad enough that her tasking had been to sort out and put a lid on the most sordid "who did what to whom" set of allegations she'd dealt with in years and determine who to charge with what UCMJ offenses. She'd also had to separate and mediate between territorial Air Force and Navy commanders and their SJAs, all in the biting cold of one of the worst winters in a bleak corner of Afghanistan. Now, the entire day would be spent completing her report and drafting proposed UCMJ charges. The only good bit had been the stops in Bangor outbound and returning. Making a mental note to send as large a check as she could to the Maine Troop Greeters, Mac reflected for a moment on how different the public support for the Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen and Marines was in this war, compared to what her uncle and other older servicemembers had told her about their return from Viet-Nam – the public disdain, the name calling…no parades or cheering greeters then. It was so different now –the outpouring of support for the troops from the entire country, from schoolchildren to the elderly, not just the usual charitable and veterans'organizations and major corporations.

Walking through the Bullpen on "autopilot", she was reminded once again that it was Valentine's Day. Ouch! As weary as she was, the ache of loneliness hit her especially hard, as it always had when she wasn't involved with "someone special" at this time of year. All the flowers and other "tokens" of affection crowding the desks of every female under the roof just reminded her of her "single" status. It had first "hit" her several hours ago when she had walked to Judge Helfman's chambers to get the latest copy of the court docket and had seen the flowers Mr. Helfman had ordered perched merrily "out of the way" but definitely not out of sight on a tall filing cabinet tucked in a corner. She had mentally damned the computer gremlins that had prevented her from printing out the docket and forced her to make that walk to the judge's chambers. And, so far as Mac and Valentine's Day were concerned, the day had gone straight downhill from there. Her excuse, if she were to be asked, for staying behind the closed door of her own office, was both her report and all the usual paperwork that seemed to multiply like rabbits whenever she was absent from JAG for any length of time. If she were pressed—and only Harm would have the nerve to press her so far on such a personal issue, she would have to confess to not wanting to see the increasing number of flowers, balloons, plush, etc. rapidly accumulating in the Bullpen and other offices at JAG. It just drilled home in a rather forceful, if unintended, manner, the state of her "love life." Of course, she didn't have to see them to know they were there. On any other day, the co-mingled perfume of roses and chocolate would have been a delight to her senses.

'Are you single and sans lover by choice?' Her inner voice reminded her that she had spent most of 23 hours in flight reviewing and reworking her single New Year's resolution – to make her relationship with Harm work. No more agonizing over their past mis-steps, no more pushing him away, she'd sworn; she was determined to take the hand – and heart – he'd held out to her since last May. Then and there, she decided to stop on her way home and get a card and something sweet and cute for Harm, in addition to the chocolate ice cream she'd have for supper if she didn't hear from him!

Just then, she spotted Harriet. Harriet was "messin" with papers on her own desk, a frown on her normally cheerful and upbeat countenance. Mac diverted from her course to the break room to walk by Harriet.

"Harriet, what's wrong?" She had learned a long time ago, the best way to keep from sinking in a bog of self-pity was to focus on others—and if Harriet was frowning, there had to be something not quite right with the universe. Harriet glanced up from the stack of papers that, so far as Mac could discern, weren't going anywhere real fast or soon.

"Oh, hi, ma'am." She glanced back down at the papers covering her desk, lining it like newspapers would a cat's litter box. "Nothing, really. It's just that I was expecting flowers from Bud today. He never forgets—he always sends flowers on our anniversary, my birthday, the kids' birthdays, and Valentine's Day—and they still haven't arrived. I know Yokosuka's a lot of time zones away and he's full up between the case and LT Vukovic, but he's never forgotten …." Harriet's voice trailed off, remembering that Mac hadn't gotten any deliveries either.

"Oh." Mac had a couple of immediate reactions, one chasing the other much like hounds after a fox on a hunt. The first was that several years ago, Harriet would have been twisted in knots, thinking perhaps Bud didn't care. The second was how unlike Harm Bud was! It was a good thing, she thought involuntarily, that as good a "learner" Bud had proven to be, there were certain things he didn't follow his male mentor on!! She patted Harriet's arm. "The day's not over yet, Harriet. Bud may have ordered flowers on-line. Besides," and she waved her arm gesturing to the flowers already present in the bullpen, "the florists have certainly been busy. Maybe they just haven't been delivered yet!"

Harriet smiled just a tiny bit and Mac congratulated herself on a job well done cheering up the younger officer. Just then, one of the delivery boys—Mac estimated him to be of traditional college age—walked up with a bouquet of unbelievably gorgeous flowers – really different, not roses -- two stuffed bears dressed in Sailor suits complete with "Dixie cup" hats and a box of chocolates. His head was barely visible over the flowers and he was struggling just a bit—his arms, Mac thought privately, were certainly full.

"Excuse me, ladies, but I'm supposed to deliver all of this 'stuff'—"and he nodded towards the items in his arms—"to a woman officer who has a window in her office."

Mac's jaw dropped. She stuttered just a bit, and then gathered herself. "I'm the only female officer who has an office with windows in it." She reached for the vase holding the flowers. "Why don't I take these and we'll go to my office?" She took the vase, held the flowers up to her nose, closed her eyes, and breathed deeply "Harriet, I'm sure it's just a matter of time." She turned to the delivery boy. "Do you have a card?"

He shook his head, visibly showing his relief at not having to struggle with flowers in addition to the bears and the box of truffles. "No—and that's strange. Every delivery I've made so far has had a card." He looked embarrassed. "It may be my fault – we have two vans out today and both are so crammed it may have fallen off when I reached for this vase or even when the van was loaded. Do you want me to go back to the van and look for the card? Or call back to the shop?"

"Uh…no, it's okay." 'What did she want, this kid thinking she didn't know who had sent this outpouring of romantic goodies …anyway, who besides Harm could they possibly be from – she hadn't had a "real" date in nearly a year.'

She nodded decisively. "Harriet, just hang in there. I'm sure Bud's flowers are on their way to you even as we speak." She motioned to the delivery boy. "Follow me." Looking back at her friend, she suggested, "Harriet, why don't you grab us two coffees and come sample these truffles with me. It's past time for a break."

"Mmmm….these are the 'best'." Her attack of the grumps over her flowerless state momentarily soothed by the Godiva, Harriet grinned at the colonel, determined to have a bit of fun with her, even though she had her own suspicions. "So spill, ma'am, who's the secret admirer? These aren't ordinary roses and candy."

"Harriet, we're filling our faces with truffles – don't call me 'ma'am,'" Mac remonstrated, playing with the plush, touching the bears' noses together. "One should be in greens" she pretended to pout. The younger woman giggled, "they are so cute but answer the question, counselor, you don't get off the hook by sharing the loot."

"I haven't had a date in nearly a year" she prevaricated, pretending to consider the question. "Maybe my godchildren?" Harriet snorted, "A.J.'s allowance is fifty cents a week, you can do better than that. Besides, you do 'date' – you just don't call it that - at least four times a week from what I hear ..." Harriet teased her friend: "I know you and the commander hang out together all the time when you're both in DC. Or do you think CDR Brumby sent them, maybe for 'old times sake,' or maybe Mr. Webb is trying to apologize for letting you think he was dead?" Mac grimaced, reacting stiffly. "God, Harriet, bite your tongue. I haven't heard from Mic in years and if I never see or speak to Webb for the rest of my life, it'll be too soon." Harriet had been given a carefully abbreviated version of Webb's 'reincarnation,' as had Sturgis, only because they'd been in the Bullpen when Bud and Jen had figured out the clue to 'Manderlay.'

"Well, if you're sure you're not dating anyone secretly, I'm sure they're from the Commander," Harriet giggled again. "Are you _sure_ you don't have any news to share?"

"Mmmmm…" Mac's hand hovered over the box of truffles, "these are good."

"You can do better than 'good'" Harriet tried again, smirking as Mac murmured "I hope so."

Chapter two to follow shortly.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: Revelations

Love, it is a flower, and you it's only seed.

(The Rose – Bette Midler)

1430/2:30 pm

Same date, same place

Time had passed. Not that she'd lost track of time, but she'd allowed the day to get away from her. Only her utmost concentration had allowed her to work rapidly a solid 53 minutes per hour; completing the report of her Afghanistan investigation, and then spend 7 minutes smiling at her "loot," a goofy, dreamy smile gracing her lovely features. Now it was 1430 and the growl of her stomach reminded her that she and Harriet had sampled the Godiva truffles hours ago and that her bottle of water and coffee mug were both long empty. The cafeteria closed at 1400, but perhaps there was something other than candy in the break room; if not, lunch would be peanut butter crackers from the geedunk machine in the lobby.

Crossing the Bullpen, a Marine on a mission, the corners of her mouth turned up as she took note of the overwhelming color red, the smell of flowers and chocolate, the balloons, and the smiles and soft murmurings into various phones. What a difference from how she'd viewed the same scene just a few hours ago! Noting the Staff Sergeant at the reception counter, her smile widened.

"SSgt Davies, you holding up okay? Major smelly day here." She grinned at the squared away young Marine who'd recently received LIMDU orders to JAG HQ. Everyone was caught up in his quiet determination to be found fit for full duty, despite his artificial knee and hip. He had several months more of three times a week physical therapy and rehab before a decision would be made.

"I don't mind, ma'am; it smells good. My granddad was the head gardener at the Hotel Del in Coronado and my mom always had flower gardens at home." The SSgt liked the Chief of Staff - she always had a friendly word and a quick smile for the enlisted; she always took care to ensure no one was overwhelmed by the work or the stresses of the fast-paced operations in the Bullpen. In the short time he's been onboard, his sharp gaze and keen ears had seen how officers and enlisted equally sought her out, seeking her guidance and counsel, never afraid she'd belittle or think less of them. The Bullpen hadn't been the same the two weeks she'd been TAD, with the stern-faced, sharp-tongued CDR Turner as Acting Chief of Staff. He hoped she'd never find out about his less-than-professional reaction when he'd gotten his LIMDU orders.

_Flashback_.

Mid-January.

Wounded Warriors Rehab Center

National Naval Medical Center Bethesda

"Shit. Shit. Sh .." Of all the commands in the metro area, this was SSgt Gene Davies' last choice.

"What'd you get?" Sgt Lawrence Midling and Gene had become solid friends, the only two Marines among the group who'd arrived from Landstuhl some three months before. One Army 1st LT, three Navy enlisted and the two of them. The six had vowed to see each other through what each knew would be grueling months of surgeries, treatments and rehab. They were five now. Minutes after he'd made it down the gauntlet, as they called the walk without the parallel bars, for the first time, with only the heavy brace supporting his shattered leg, Petty Officer Tanner James was dead, the victim of a fast-traveling embolism. Shaken, the group had drawn even closer together.

"JAG HQ. Christ, a bunch of lawyers, Squid lawyers," disdain dripped from his voice.

"Uh uh, not quite – there're two Marines at JAG – the JAG himself and the Chief of Staff."

"The Chief of Staff? How d'ya know?" Gene was interested in spite of himself. He discounted the JAG – he assumed he'd have little contact with a general, but he'd likely report to the Chief of Staff or his deputy. Maybe this might be okay. "Do you know his name?"

"Her name, she's a she," chortled his friend. "You'll like her, she's like you. The colonel's a Marine's marine."

"How would you know?" Gene was skeptical; when and where would Larry have known a senior officer lawyer.

"She saved my butt, and over 20 more of us….I thought I was done for, that we all were, but she and the Gunny, they got us out of that hell."

"Larry what are you talking about; what hell, and when and where?" Gene was getting impatient with his younger friend.

"Aceh in 2001. The colonel and the Gunny had come from the Guadal to get a dirtbag rapist out of the local dungeon – a real disgrace to the Corps. The locals weren't taking it well, they fire-bombed us and overran the consulate. It was my first post out of Boot….I thought we were all goners. The NCOIC was killed, his second was blinded, she took command and got us all out, got a helo in to get us…she and the Gunny…" Remembering the battle, Midling's voice trailed off. In some ways, it had been more frightening than Iraq. Swallowing hard, "anyway, I've sorta googled her from time to time. She and her partner've done some great things."

"What do you mean, "partner" - a Gunny can't be a lawyer and can't be her partner."

"Naw, he and she were TAD on the Guadal and in Aceh, but I meant her JAG partner, CDR Rabb." You've heard of him, haven't you – defended the SECNAV, prosecuted that terrorist, took on a dirty nuke, two DFC's."

"Can't say I've had the pleasure," snapped Gene. "What's her name?"

"MacKenzie. Lieutenant Colonel MacKenzie…you'll see…"

"Enough." Senior Chief Petty Officer Lisa Lee Argenzio, never called anything but "Ellar," grumped. "At least you've got a command to go to, some real work to do. They tell me at least two-three more inpatient weeks here for me."

"You'll be next out," Gene encouraged. He and the others were awed, daily, by the courage of the only woman in their little group. The gunner in a humvee, one of several escort vehicles providing security for a convoy when it was ambushed, she'd led her team on a counterattack, maneuvering her vehicle into a flank position and clearing trenches occupied by the insurgents. She'd ended up hand-to-hand with a motley group of the insurgents, losing half a foot when they'd finally tossed a grenade and ran. One arm was a mass of bright red scar tissue. She was the first woman since World War II to receive the Silver Star for combat action. Only after three unsuccessful surgeries had she finally agreed to amputation to better support a prosthesis. She was determined to return to Iraq. "I've got unfinished business at Al Asad" was her mantra.

"You've gotta dance at my wedding." 1st LT Paul Mason's voice was soft. "You promised me a dance, Ellar, and I'm holding you to it." His fiancée had wanted them to marry in the hospital but he'd been adamant that they wait until he could walk down the aisle. Leading a sweep through a compound in Anbar Province, his platoon had come under heavy fire. Despite being shot in the arm, chest and left leg, he'd laid down suppressive fire to rescue another trapped soldier. He'd never have full use of his arm, would always walk with a heavy limp and was nearly deaf in one ear. The young West Point graduate knew that realistically, his dream of an Army career was over. For the first time in over 100 years, no Mason would be on active duty. The Bronze Star with Valor Device was no consolation. Next week, he'd meet with a Rehabilitation Specialist to begin to plan the future he'd thought he wouldn't have to worry about for 30 years.

"With me too." If they were awed by the Senior Chief's determination, there weren't words to describe how they felt about Petty Officer Jose Mandendez. The young Seal's patrol had been struck by an IED. Half his face had been blown off, one leg below the knee, an arm above the elbow. In the worst shape, physically, of any of them, his faith that he'd walk out of the hospital never wavered.

"Hey, who said you could take a break? Why am I the only one sweating here," grunted Petty Officer Mandendez, flapping a temporary prosthesis at the others. "we all agreed, we're going to run in the Army 10-Miler as part of the "Missing Parts in Action" team. That's less than eight months to train."

"Plenty of time, 'Jose-Man,'" Larry grinned. "Between us, we've got more than enough parts." At Gene's blank expression he elaborated, "Y'know, most people have two of each – arms, legs, ears, eyes. Between us, we've got more – if we're not disqualified for having too many parts or too much metal, we can win!"

_End flashback. _

"So the Bullpen today's like being home," Mac gently teased the young Marine.

"Better. Lots of pretty women, loads of candy, bushels of roses and balloons …uh…no offense ma'am? I meant…." 'get a grip Davies, he reprimanded himself – she's a senior officer, your CO!'

"Not to worry, SSgt," Mac reassured.

In the JAG Parking Lot.

Whipping into his parking space with the same dexterity and precision he used to drive a tomcat, Harm let himself slump for a moment in the SUV's seat. 'God, was he glad to be back, back at JAG, back home.' NCIS had refused to investigate what they'd shrugged off as a series of unrelated minor fires in a barracks and at several tenant commands at Naval Station Norfolk – until there'd been a death. Harm had stayed on to assist the overwhelmed team of junior agents. Like everyone, NCIS was stretched thin since 9.11, with most agents diverted to anti-terrorism or counter-intelligence work. Interestingly, the case had led to an unexpected job offer from the Special Agent in Charge at the Norfolk regional office – a GS 14 job providing legal counsel and doing follow-on to the initial training the new agents went through. Explaining that he was not yet at retirement eligibility, Harm had shrugged it off but agreed to keep in touch. The nearly two weeks of little sleep coupled with worry over Mac's assignment in Afghanistan had taken a toll – he couldn't remember being this tired. 'At least he was 'home.' Now if only Mac'd made it back from Afghanistan….'

Moving wearily towards the building, he politely held the door for a young woman who'd emerged from a florist's van balancing a vase of the reddest roses he'd seen in ages and a large paper shopping bag. "Can I help you with that?" he asked, nodding towards the flowers and bag.

"No thanks, I've got it all balanced," she laughed. Moving into the lobby, she waggled the vase at the guard.

"Amy, you again? How many times is this so far today?" The security guard chuckled as he leaned forward to clip a visitor's badge to her sleeve.

"Hey, this is the biggest day of the year for florists. And that means mega tips for me. Not to mention the smiles, the candy samples, I love it!" Majoring in horticulture at Northern Virginia Community College, the young woman loved her part time job at the Flower Lady.

'Biggest day …flowers…candy…' waiting for the elevator, alarm bells were going off in Harm's head. Looking closely at the young woman, he noted the bright red T-shirt covered with small white hearts, even as it hit him: 'Valentine's Day. No shittin, Hammer. No card for mom, no card for gram, nothing for Mattie, no flowers for Mac' …..'Where'd THAT thought come from?!' Blindly following the woman, Harm slowed as they reached the entrance to JAG's Quarterdeck – he could see into a corner of the Bullpen – he could SMELL the Bullpen. The scent of roses was overwhelming. Trying to decide whether to beat feet to a store, suck it up, make a joke, he paused, hanging back as the young woman approached the reception counter, fingering the small velvet pouch in his pocket.

"Who for now, Amy?" Gene grinned at the laden young woman. Her 4th delivery of the day, they were now on a first name basis as she announced the deliveries and he directed her to the lucky officer or legalman's desk or office. The Flower Lady's other van had also been by a few times - that one had a male college student delivery person, also suitably laden with goodies each trip.

"For YOU!" Amy set the roses on the counter with a flourish, enjoying the laughs that greeted her announcement from everyone in the vicinity. Reaching into the bag, she removed an envelope, holding it out dramatically. "The order was very explicit. The flowers, then the envelope, then ….THIS" – pulling a huge green frog dressed in cammies with a red bow around its neck from the bag. "I'm also required to shout 'kiss the frog'!"

Roaring with laughter, the Bullpen's inhabitants waited for the squared away Marine's response.

Mac couldn't resist. "Pucker up, SSgt; that's an order!"

"With pleasure; Yes, ma'am!" SSgt Davies leaned forward with care, his arms wide apart, curving around the bright green plush as he pasted a noisy smooch on the frog.

"It didn't turn into a prince." Mac smirked, continuing the jesting, enjoying the break from the usual bustling HQ routine.

The Marine was nearly choking, laughing hard at the private joke. "Not a prince, a princess. Oh yeah. This is Katya's best year ever."

SSgt Davies grinned broadly as his new colleagues ogled the huge mass of flowers and stuffed frog nearly hiding him from view. Both the men and women were murmuring, albeit for different reasons.

"I wish I'd thought of sending flowers to Scott, " LN2 Shana Allan whispered to LN3 Teri Vance. "He'd tell me it was embarrassing, but I bet he'd secretly love it."

"Mmmm…expensive….but worth it. C'mon, it's not too late." Giggling, the two petty officers made for the phone.

"ALL RIGHT!" LTJG Michael Goodrich exclaimed. "Someone spent some serious bucks here. Give it up, Staff Sergeant."

"It's no secret." SSgt Davies' face was slightly pink. He'd only been at this command a short time. "You all know I'm married. She'll be here soon to make sure I've got them; we always send each other flowers and a frog for Valentine's Day, unless I'm in the field."

As the oohs and aahs diminished and the laughter in the Bullpen dissipated, Davies noticed the Chief of Staff regarding him thoughtfully, a small smile on her face.

"Ma'am...pardon me, may I help you?" he struggled to his feet.

"At ease, SSgt, I told you when you reported – you'd be popping up and down all day if you stand every time an officer passes by. That's not going to rehab your hip or your knee. Save it for the General."

"Yes, ma'am, it's …uh...instinct." The Staff Sergeant relaxed a bit. "Did the Flower Lady's delivery guy find you? He didn't have a name but his sheet said window so I sent him to you."

"He did, yes, thanks." Mac's smile grew; she'd convinced herself the flowers, truffles and bears were from Harm.

"Your wife's beautiful." Her gaze strayed to the photograph prominently displayed on the reception counter. The young woman was laughing into the camera, red hair streaming in the breeze, her arms filled with roses.

Still outside the Bullpen doors, trying to decide what to do, Harm smiled as he listened to Mac, enjoying the sound of her voice, the actual conversation barely registering.

"How long have you been married?" Mac couldn't help but smile; it was so nice to see someone so happy. 'hell, she was happy – she was back from the TAD to hell, and Harm had sent flowers, truffles and bears. Who else could they be from?'

"Almost ten years Ma'am."

"Excuse me?" Mac was incredulous. She knew from his record, which she'd reviewed when he reported, that SSgt Davies was barely 27.

"Ten years, Gene repeated, grinning broadly. "I was 17; Katya was still 16. I'd already taken my oath and would go to Boot as soon as I graduated from high school. Our folks were ticked, but they knew if they didn't consent, we'd just go to a state where we could do it."

"How long had you known her?" Not exactly a professional discussion, but the whole scene wasn't a very professional day at JAG HQ!

"Ten years. I was seven, she was six." Gene's voice was soft now, remembering. "I remember thinking she was the prettiest girl I'd ever seen, when she came to the door…school had started a month or so before, and we were in our reading groups. The dog was bigger than she was. I think the teacher assigned me to her because I was looking at her instead of the dog. I'd never seen anyone with red hair before…I was seven years old and I was smitten ma'am – I admit it…guilty as charged." Gene's grin couldn't have been larger.

"Dog??" Mac sputtered.

This was getting unreal. A child bride and groom, the Marine kissing a stuffed frog in cammies, and a dog??? Harm's mind was reeling, he could hardly believe this, but the love he heard in the Marine's voice was very real.

"King. Her seeing eye dog." Gene was matter of fact. Changing the subject, the SSgt grinned at Mac. "Did you like your flowers and the candy and the bears, ma'am? I didn't understand, though, why they were both in whites."

"Err …yes, I just assumed the florist didn't have any bears in cammies. I'm gonna go to the Marine Corps Exchange at Henderson Hall straight from here to get two bears in greens! Tomorrow there'll be an even exchange." Mac chuckled happily, looking forward to twitting her squid about the error. She intended that they each have two bears to take home – one in Navy whites, one in Marine greens! "Uh, you said 'Katya' – is your wife Russian? And, a seeing eye dog and a frog?"

'Flowers? Candy? Bears in whites? Who had sent them to Mac?' Jealousy tasted like the sourest of sour lemonheads in his mouth. 'Could the reincarnated "surprise-reports-of-my-death-have-been-greatly-exaggerated" Webb be trying to get back into '_his_' Marine's good graces? Could Bugme possibly be back? OR could it be LT no-ethics-sleaze?' Harm felt sick, the green-eyed monster was stabbing at his stomach. He forgot for the moment (a) that he'd thought of Mac as 'his' Marine and (b) that he hadn't ordered any flowers, candy or plush for her.

He nearly missed the continuing conversation.

"You really thought you were ready for marriage? ….I'm sorry, SSgt," Mac gasped. "I didn't mean to sound…" a thought of her brief, ill-considered marriage at 18 flitted through Mac's mind.

"No ma'am its okay, anyone who didn't know us then can't believe we married so young." The Marine smiled at Mac, his normal reserve before a senior officer having faded a bit in the face of the frivolous atmosphere that had filled the Bullpen with laughter and good humor since early morning when the deliveries began.

"I'd been ready for years. Katya was all I'd ever wanted, practically from the day we met." No doubts and no hesitation – Gene Davies had never wavered from his goals, and top amongst them was marrying Katya.

"You asked about King and the frog. King was Katya's first seeing eye dog. Katya's blind, or nearly so. It was some sort of incubator accident. She can see light and dark, and she sorta senses large masses. But she can't see, see, not like we do."

"I never really think about it, Colonel; it's just part of who she is. Katya can do anything, well, almost anything…she ice skates, and hang glides, and plays the piano; she's just finished her PhD in psychology at George Washington University." Gene Davies loved to talk about his wife and it showed. "She'll be here soon, may I introduce her to you?"

"Yes, of course, I'm looking forward to it." Mac's response was automatic, but her thoughts were anything but. At 26 and 27, this young couple had been married nearly ten years. SSgt Davies voice resonated with love and contentment as he talked about her. 'Would she ever know that happiness?'

"You said her name is Katya? Is she Russian?" Mac was caught up in the saga of young love that had endured.

"Her name's Ekaterina Elena Feodorovna. For her great-grandparents, ma'am. They escaped from Russia before the Revolution and got to Denmark. When Hitler came to power, they and her grandparents figured out what was coming and got out, made it to the United States. They were lucky –Jewish doctors and university professors were on Hitler's hit list, big time."

Lingering in the hall and listening intently now, Harm was also caught up in the young Marine's story. He didn't have to see him to hear the love, pride and commitment. This young man was more than ten years Harm's junior and he had everything Harm wanted, while he hadn't even sent flowers to the woman he'd loved for so long he couldn't remember not loving her.

"How do you know she's coming here? She's not at work?" Mac was curious, engrossed in the best love story she'd heard in ages. Jarhead that she was, she'd never hidden her enjoyment of 'chick flicks' and sappy romance novels – airplane reads, she called them. Lucky her -- she flew a lot.

"She always comes," SSgt Davies laughed softly. "It's part of our game. She always comes to see I didn't hide the flowers or the frog."

"There's a story there, I bet," Mac prompted.

"Yes, ma'am. The frog's our lucky mascot, sort of. Everyone in Katya's family collects frog things. They constantly give frogs to each other, try to outdo the last thing. There's a special box they use to send the stuff from one person to the next. I guess I bought into it years ago. And as for coming to see me, she always comes. Unless I'm in the field, she always comes on Valentine's Day. Once she came to Pendleton for less than two hours, then she had to take a plane back to Stanford for an exam." The SSgt's pride in his wife was evident in his voice. "When I joined the Corps, she promised she'd never miss Valentine's if I wasn't in the field. We know it's corny, but it's the day I asked her to marry me."

"I made promises too, ma'am and now I'm afraid I may not be able to keep one." Davies' voice had turned serious. "Could I talk to you ma'am?" he blurted. "Not right now …"

Still nervously fingering the little pouch in his pocket, Harm steeled himself, deciding he'd procrastinated in the corridor long enough.

Before he could step into the Bullpen, Amy was back, this time with a crystal vase with roses - three yellow and two pink… "Delivery for LT Sims."

Finally! Harriet came forward eagerly, smiling at the simple grouping. Yellow roses from the boys, the pink ones from Nicki and Baby Sarah. She and Bud had promised each other they'd never let her be forgotten. "Thank you," she said softly, reaching for the vase.

For many months, she'd gone to the cemetery daily, finding some measure of comfort in talking to the daughter she'd never held. She went less often now, and usually took A.J. with her, wanting him, at least, to know about the baby sister he'd eagerly looked forward to being "big brother" to, even if he didn't really remember his mom being pregnant with her or her funeral.

It was A.J., years back, who first drew her attention to the pink roses adorning Sarah's grave. "Priddy," he'd announced. "'Ow'd dey ge' 'ere?" Somehow, one snowy Sunday afternoon at home, as the toddler had prattled on to his "Aun' Mac and 'Unca Arm" about the cemetery and the "priddy pink flow'wrs" Harriet had realized Harm and Mac were responsible for the roses – always nine pink roses, tied with a white ribbon – that were always there, always fresh. It was over four years since Sarah's birth and death, but the roses were still there, obviously delivered regularly. Sarah's god parents hadn't forgotten her either.

"You're welcome. Did you like the big bouquet, and all the other stuff?" Amy smiled happily at the pretty blond, remembering the extravagant exotic flowers – not a rose in the bunch - the expensive box of truffles and the two bears in Sailor suits.

"I beg your pardon," Harriet was honestly puzzled. "This is all you've brought me today."

"Jonny brought the first delivery," Amy explained. "I prepped it all myself, but we had so much, things got separated and these got put into my van by mistake. I'm sorry - you were meant to get everything together. I definitely remember the order, it was an overseas call." She frowned, upset at the mistake. "So then, who got your flowers and candy, and the bears? Not roses, they were all exotic flowers, very different. The man who ordered was very specific about what he wanted."

Uhhhh…Mac's and Harriet's eyes met, and she sighed. "A young man from your shop came in a couple of hours ago. There was no card, but he said his instructions were window officer and I'm the only woman officer with a window office," she explained quietly. 'Oh well, who had she been kidding. Harm wouldn't have had such a display delivered to JAG. Besides, that explained the two Sailor bears.'

"I'm sorry ma'am." Harriet didn't know what to say. She was thrilled that Bud hadn't forgotten after all, but she knew the colonel had thought they were from Harm.

Harm might be oblivious at times, but he wasn't totally stupid or totally insensitive. Far from it. Hearing the unvoiced hurt in Mac's tone, and the embarrassment in Harriet's, he cringed, realizing what had happened. Mac had gotten flowers and candy, and apparently, some stuffed bears, but they were really all Harriet's. 'Who had she thought they were from? And more importantly, who did she _want_them to be from?'

Harm sighed. Since Mac's Christmas Eve accident, he felt they'd regained their solid friendship and, he hoped, they were moving towards more. Harm knew the difference between "hanging out" with a friend and asking a woman out. It's called "dating." 'Why hadn't he at least asked Mac out for tonight?' "Let's grab a pizza when we're both back in DC," via email, did not cut it on the most romantic day of the year.

'What to do now?' His impulsive Norfolk purchase weighed heavy in his pocket.

"Attention on deck!" Petty Officer Jennifer Coates' clear, firm call felt like a blast out of somewhere else, as she rapidly preceded General Cresswell from the elevator onto the Quarterdeck.

"What the …!" Biff Cresswell had just spent five hours in a Pentagon SCIF participating in classified briefings from commanders on the ground in Iraq. His mind still back on the desert battlefields and the grim streets of Baghdad, the roses, balloons, candy boxes and stuffed animals that filled the Bullpen did not go over well – not at all.

Looking to vent his ire, he first focused on the LIMDU SSgt recently assigned to JAG HQ while he continued rehab, who was holding the largest, greenest stuffed frog Biff had ever seen. The Marine was nearly hidden from view by the frog and what had to be at least two dozen red roses.

"SSgt Davies. What is that, that THING doing in cammies with a red bow??" Biff had conveniently forgotten an English Bulldog in red boxers. When you pressed it's paw, it grunted "Hoo rah!" Meant to seize control of his obviously wayward troops, Cresswell's voice sputtered as the absurdity of both the scene and his question hit him.

"He had to kiss it Sir." LN3 Vance might be the youngest and most junior member of the staff, but she'd grown up with five older brothers. Nothing fazed her, not even a general on the "no-romance-in-my-command" warpath.

Biff couldn't believe the display. "LT Sims. You're in charge of Bullpen Ops. What work has been accomplished today?"

"It's been an excellent day Sir!" Harriet was more than ready to brazen it out.

"Excellent my ass….for the local purveyors of all this stuff, maybe. Is my office fit to work in? This place looks like some sort of bordello, not a military command." Cresswell was really trying hard.

"Uh …" SSgt Davies was ready to shoulder his share of the blame. He'd let the delivery folks into the spaces all day long. "You don't have any flowers, General, just …"

"Just what, SSgt?" Biff knew it was a losing battle, he just couldn't help himself.

"Balloons, a balloon bouquet, Sir. And two of those real fancy balloons, with hands and feet that walk….Sir….I think your children sent them Sir."

The Judge Advocate General felt his control slipping further in the face of his smirking staff. "I need to make some calls. Is there ANY office uncluttered by this, this stuff?" Waving an arm, his accusing gaze fell on his Chief of Staff.

Mac still had hopes for the eagles of a full bird colonel. Glimpsing Harriet emerging from her office clutching the bears, truffles, and vase, she squared her shoulders and firmly anchored her Marine mask, prepared to suck it up. "My office is full of nothing but JAG files and documents, Sir, if you wish to use it …." Her voice was stoic and only slightly pained.

Now that was unexpected. Devoted family man that he was, and still smarting that she'd out-shot him, Cresswell was well aware that his Chief of Staff was not only the best looking woman in the Corps, but one of the most beautiful he'd ever seen. Using his eyes took nothing away from his wife. "Colonel, of all the spaces around here, I'd expect yours to be floor to ceiling flowers today."

"No Sir, nothing but JAG files, Sir." Now Mac was embarrassed. Would her CO henceforth see her as some lonely spinster, the only woman at JAG without a single flower on Valentine's Day?

"It should be full of roses. Nine dozen at least." The Bullpen crew turned as one to gape at the tall handsome commander. Harm's voice was low and apologetic. "I'm sorry Mac, the days blurred while we were both away..."

"It's okay…" Mac was dumbfounded. 'Where had this come from?'

"It's not okay. Stupid squid here." Harm's voice was still faint.

Cresswell somehow knew he wouldn't like wherever this was going. Not in his Bullpen…not at his command…Opening his mouth to command his troops back to work, the lilting tone of his bride's voice forestalled him.

"Biff, I picked up the boys and we've brought refreshments. It's so nice you have shore duty this year." Dora Cresswell beamed at her husband as she swept briskly into the Bullpen carrying a vase of mixed tulips, followed by two red-faced young teens toting a heart-shaped cake and several pink bakery boxes. She considered it her mission to ensure a human Biff Cresswell to his troops, not just the stalwart general.

The good general felt his command control erode even further as his staff's heads swiveled between Dora and the General and Mac and Harm, obviously unsure which would be the better show. "Dora this is…" Whatever Biff had planned to say remained unsaid as he re-focused on his senior attorneys. Facing Mac, Harm now held a small velvet bag in his hand.

I forgot it was Valentine's Day but I did get you something." Not quite how or where Harm had planned this, but hey, a good commander has to be flexible, on the battlefield …or in the Bullpen.

"The ruby's for the Corps. The sapphires are the sea and the sky. As soon as I saw it in Ghent last night, I knew it was '_us_'." Harm held out the antique ruby and sapphire ring, oblivious to the mesmerized crowd of his suddenly silent colleagues and his CO.

For once, Mac had no comeback. Both of her hands were shaking slightly as she held them out. 'Which hand would Harm put the ring on?'

Cresswell's inner Marine finally kicked in. Not in his Bullpen! "Rabb. MacKenzie. Take this to…to your office. NOW." His bellow would have done any flag or general officer proud.

Mac and Harm were undeterred, a Marine and a Sailor with a mission to complete.

"Marry me?"

The two spoke at the same time, just as yet another voice intruded sweetly from the Quarterdeck entrance. "It smells wonderful here. Can someone tell me where SSgt Gene Davies works? It should be near a big green frog."

Every eye except Harm's and Mac's swung to the Quarterdeck, the group gawking at the largest boxer they'd ever seen, a big red bow around his neck, his harness held firmly by a vision in red.

Dora Cresswell had the last word. "Biff, you never told me it's just like "As the Bullpen Turns" here at JAG. I'm sure you could sell this to one of the networks."

The End …('_Cake anyone?_')


End file.
